


Fear Itself

by London_Halcyon



Series: Origin of a Mad Witch [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: Absent Parents, Angst and Feels, Boggarts, Dementors, Gen, Jossed, Patronus, Video Game: Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/London_Halcyon/pseuds/London_Halcyon
Summary: "Why do we need a Boggart?" Ismelda asked."I'll learn faster if it's a trial by fire," Merula responded. "That, and there's only one way to figure out if the spell actually works.""This sounds dangerous," Ismelda said with a grin. "Let's do it."It's Year 3 for the Hogwarts Mystery gang, and Boggarts are running rampant in the school. While Jacob's sibling and her friends prepare to face the Vault of Fear, Merula and Ismelda do some training of their own. Only, who knew that finding what makes you happy could be more difficult than facing your worst fears?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have gotten distracted and made a cover. Created using CC and PD images, the Wattpad Covers app, and Procreate.


	2. Chapter 2

“Should we torture him?”

Merula glanced briefly at Ismelda before looking back at Barnaby. The dumb lug had positioned himself across the Common Room, as far away from her as he could possibly get, and was purposely and obviously avoiding her gaze. Every few minutes he would look up and, realizing she was still glaring at him, would duck his head and stare back at the carpet. She gritted her teeth and let the anger roil inside of her until she got the strange feeling it was going to choke her. She forced herself to take a breath and balled up her robes in her hands to stop them from shaking, surprised to find herself feeling ill. She took another breath and waited for the irritating sensation to pass before she finally turned her full attention to Ismelda. 

“Don’t bother,” she said loudly, hoping her voice would travel across the room. “He’s no use to us if he’s that much of a coward. 

Ismelda shrugged her horribly slouched shoulders. “I still think a bit of maiming would do him good,” she stated plainly. 

“Of course you would,” Merula said, rolling her eyes. “Just forget about it. If he wants to chase after Flores, let him. At best, they’ll get nowhere. At worst, she’ll lead him to his death.”

“I think you have those reversed.”

Merula didn’t give her the benefit of a response. She clenched and unclenched her fists as the ill feeling returned in another wave. It rooted in her chest and stretched from the top of her stomach to the back of her throat, like a small, fluttery creature was building a nest. Her heart jerked against her ribcage, and she shot to her feet in agitation. 

“I’m going to the Potions Classroom,” she muttered as if there wasn’t a fairy in her chest. “I need to study.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ismelda said, to her increased irritation. “There’s a new poison I’ve been meaning to brew.”

She really didn’t want the company, but she didn’t have the time to argue. If she didn’t get out of that room soon, there was a chance she truly would be ill, and hell would freeze over before she would give Barnaby the satisfaction of witnessing that. “Fine. Just don’t distract me,” she said and stalked out of the room without waiting to see if Ismelda was keeping up. 

Fortunately the Potions Classroom wasn’t far from the Slytherin Common Room, and she nearly sighed in relief when she stepped through the door. The cool stone room with its clean tables and numerous shelves of jarred ingredients had a calming effect. Here was a place where for every action that was performed with the right amount of precision, care, and intellect, the desired outcome could be achieved. Here she had control. 

“Snape’s not here,” Ismelda noted. Sure enough, the chair by the Potions Master’s desk was empty. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Merula said. “He normally gives me permission. Help me fetch ingredients, would you?” She began to browse the shelves, but she paused when she noticed that Ismelda still hadn’t moved. “Do you have jelly slugs in your ears? I said help me.”

Ismelda abruptly drew her wand and silently gestured at the desk with a grin. Merula followed her gaze and drew her wand as well when she realized what her companion had spotted. Within the shadows beneath the desk something shifted ever so slightly, like a person trying to remain hidden. So, someone thought they could spy on her, did they? She matched Ismelda’s grin. 

_ Flores, if that’s you, you’re in for a rude awakening. _

Wand at the ready, she carefully approached the desk. The figure shifted again, and she planted her feet in a dueling stance. They were about to come out now, and when they did, she would make sure they felt it. Their robes came into the light, and she inhaled, prepared to spit out the incantation. “ _ Fli— _ ”

The room temperature dropped a dozen degrees, freezing the rest of the word in her mouth, and the person took advantage of the hesitation to rise from beneath the desk. No. It wasn’t a person. It was a monster. She had seen them in Azkaban, and more recently, she had seen them in her nightmares. But they shouldn’t have been here. They couldn’t be at Hogwarts. 

The dim light became dimmer as the Dementor straightened. Even though it floated off the ground, it was clear the wraith-like figure was at least twice her height, for it towered far over her. Cold seeped from the folds of its black cloak, and every bit of warmth left her body. She tried to step back, but her legs were locked in place. The fairy in her chest climbed on her heart and squeezed her lungs, preventing her from moving or even breathing. She could do nothing, absolutely nothing, as the monster lifted its gray, decaying hands, bent over her, and removed its hood. Empty eye sockets stared at her from within its scabbed face, and through the gaping black hole that was its mouth, it took one long, rattling breath. 

She let out a strangled shout as the cold tore into her. It was like she had swallowed a shard of cursed ice, and now it was going to punch through her skin from the inside out. She was going to die. No, she was going to be left in a state worse than death. She would be an empty shell. She wouldn’t remember who she was or what her parents looked like. She would be nothing. 

The fairy pounded on her heart and shredded her lungs. She couldn’t breathe; she still couldn’t breathe. The world grew dark and fuzzy, and incapable of fighting, she became lost in the blackness of those dead, empty eyes. 

She was nothing. 


	3. Chapter 3

Merula choked as a bitter liquid coated her tongue and caught in the back of her throat. It ripped her into a painful state of consciousness, and she jolted into a sitting position as she spluttered, trying not to drown in its awful taste. A black-clad figure grabbed her shoulder, and she panicked, certain it was the Dementor, before she realized that the hand gripping her was warm. 

“Don’t move,” a voice scolded her. “If you make yourself sick, you will be tasked with cleaning up my classroom.”

She registered the vaguely annoyed form of Professor Snape kneeling beside her. There was an empty vial in the hand he wasn’t using to support her. Ismelda stood at her feet, her face impassive. 

Merula touched a hand to her forehead to find her skin drenched in sweat. Her head was still fuzzy, and she shivered from the lingering cold. The cool stone beneath her wasn’t helping. When had she ended up on the ground? “What happened?” she croaked. 

“You fainted,” Ismelda said. 

“No.” The word left her mouth on its own. But she couldn’t have fainted. She had never fainted in her life. Only cowards did that. 

“You’re lucky that’s all that happened,” Snape said. “It may only have been a Boggart, but it still could have done significant damage to your soul. Had I not banished it when I did, there wouldn’t have been much left of you to find.”

A Boggart? “It was only a Boggart?” she echoed. It had felt so real. 

He nodded. “It was a decent likeness, but a real Dementor would have been much more powerful.”

Now it made sense why the creature had been in the school, but the knowledge also made her feel worse. She had fainted because of a stupid Boggart. As if people didn’t already have enough reasons to laugh at her...

Snape sighed and shoved a chocolate bar into her hands. “Eat this so you’ll stop looking miserable.”

She didn’t feel like eating anything, but he glared at her until she nibbled at the corner of the chocolate. Almost as soon as the bittersweet candy touched her tongue, her head cleared, and the palpitating chills began to subside. She took a bigger bite, already feeling calmer despite the loss of her dignity. 

Snape stood up and pulled her to her feet. “I would advise that you review  _ Riddikulus _ with Professor Flitwick as soon as possible, seeing that you are more vulnerable to a Boggart in this form than most.”

“I don’t get it,” she said. “Why me?”

“You should know better than anyone what Dementors do,” he responded patiently. “They feed on happiness, leaving a person with only their most painful memories. Ironically, the less a person has for a Dementor to take, the more negatively they are likely to be affected. Think about it.”

So he was saying she was vulnerable because her life was a mess. Great. That was just great. 

“Get some rest, Miss Snyde,” he ordered. “I need you functioning at your best by class time tomorrow.”

“Yes, Professor. Thank you, Professor,” she said wearily and trudged back toward the Commom Room with Ismelda in tow. It was official. This day had turned from dreadful to absolute hell. And she still felt horrible. 

“Why is your Boggart a Dementor?” Ismelda asked as they continued down the dungeon corridor.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Merula growled. “In fact, how about neither of us mention this again?”

Ismelda appeared unperturbed. “I just think it’s cool. The very incarnation of fear itself. Or the incarnation of the fear of the incarnation of fear itself. Either way, it doesn’t get better than that.”

“Do you even have a Boggart?” Merula asked in exasperation. 

“That remains to be seen.”

They walked the rest of the way to the Common Room and climbed the stairs to the Third-Year Girls’ Dormitory in silence. The dormitory was empty when they entered. It was no surprise. Lizard had said some nonsense earlier about hunting for knarls, and it was far too early for the other girls to return. Merula doubted she could sleep, but unsure of what else to do, she began to get ready for bed anyway. After pulling the covers of her bed back, her hands fell purposelessly back to her sides, and she stared at her bed without getting in it. She could feel Ismelda’s presence behind her, but she didn’t turn around to look at her when she finally spoke.

“I just don’t want to end up like my parents,” she said quietly. “I would rather die before that happened.”

“Dark and tragic. I like it.”

Merula scoffed and then climbed beneath the covers and closed her eyes. She was ready for this nightmare of a day to be over. Maybe she would forget everything if she fell asleep. 

She forgot to consider, however, that it was always in sleep that her nightmares truly began.


	4. Chapter 4

Merula hated Dementors. She remembered the first time she had seen them, during the one and only time she had visited Azkaban. Her aunt had used her influence in the Ministry to have an Auror escort them inside, and the vile creatures had followed them as they walked past the frigid, lightless cells. She remembered the appearance of every single prisoner they passed. All were gaunt and sickly pale with knotted, uncut hair and putrid, unwashed bodies. Some screamed or cried as they clung to the bars, while others just sat there, staring at the wall with expressions of overwhelming despair. One man had lain motionless, his eyes wide, blank, and unblinking. He had been so thin she could see every bone in his body, and she was certain he had been dead. 

The worst part had been seeing her parents. Her mum had tried to appear strong, but the gilded facade had only emphasized how bad she was. Her face had been hollow and sunken beneath her dull, ratty hair, and there were dark circles under her distant eyes. Her arms and legs had become thin, and the gray and white striped uniform hung loosely over her body. As she rambled on about how this was only temporary, they would get out soon, and the Dark Lord would return, Merula found herself staring at someone she didn’t know. 

Her father hadn’t even looked at her. He had sat in the corner with his back to them. It was then that she realized the Dementors didn’t keep them prisoners in their cells; they kept them prisoners in their own minds. 

It had taken Merula days to feel like eating and weeks to feel warm again after that. Her aunt had never offered to take her back, but she wouldn’t have gone even if she’d had the option. Ever since that day, she had vowed that she was never going to Azkaban again. She never wanted to end up like that. 

Now she realized she didn’t have to go to Azkaban to face a Dementor; she only had to open a cabinet, have a Boggart jump out at her and assume its form, and then feel the life drain out of her—which is exactly the nightmare she had that night. She ended up spending the rest of the night alone in the Common Room, reading up on both Boggarts and Dementors to learn how she could keep them out of her life forever, and she stayed that way until dawn. 

“Merula, you look horrible,” Flores said in surprise during Potions later that morning. 

Merula glared at the Ravenclaw girl through the vapor of her cauldron. “And you’re such a sight to behold,” she snapped. 

“I mean you look ill,” Flores said patiently, concern shining in her blue eyes. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Not in your presence, no. Just leave me alone.”

“If you’re talking, that better mean you are finished with your potion,” Snape said, preventing Flores from responding. 

The annoying girl gave her one last concerned look before silently focusing back on her own potion. She was probably glad Merula wasn’t making things difficult for her for once, and honestly, Merula didn’t have the energy. She was running on too little sleep to do much more than focus on the task at hand—that is, the plan she had worked out sometime between 2 A.M. and now. 

When class ended, she hung back until everyone had filed out, leaving just her and Snape. “Can I help you, Miss Snyde?” he asked, sounding bored. 

“I want to learn the Patronus Charm.”

“Then I’m sure Professor Flitwick would be happy to teach you, as he is the  _ Charms _ Professor.”

“I want to learn it from you.”

He looked down his long nose at her. “Why do you think I should instruct you in such a complicated spell, one that is far beyond your year, I might add?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Professor Flitwick is adequate, but he doesn’t understand me like you do. Your teaching technique is far superior, so if anyone can help me learn an advanced spell, it’s you. Besides, everyone knows you deserve to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor way more than these rubbish nobodies the Headmaster keeps bringing in.”

“You will not make it through life on flattery alone,” he said, “which is why I will agree to this. You may find, however, that this spell is too advanced even for your abilities.”

He instructed her in the basics of the spell, showing her how to hold and move her wand and perfecting her pronunciation. The Patronus Charm, he told her, functioned as a sort of shield that the Dementor could feed off of in place of the caster, so it was essentially the incarnation of a person’s happiest feelings. A powerful enough Patronus could actually drive a Dementor off. 

“For now, I would work on finding what you consider to be your happiest memory,” he said. “Identify the feelings you associate with that memory and practice conjuring them at will. Being able to call upon those feelings at any time, especially in the face of extreme despair and fear, is the only way you are going to be able to cast an effective Patronus.”

“You’re not going to show me how to cast one?” she asked in disappointment. 

“I will demonstrate, but this is something you need to work on by yourself. Remember, superficial joy will not work. You need to find a truly grounding memory, like one of a person or experience that has made you who you are. Anything less than that and the Dementor will rip it away from you within seconds.”

“What memory do you use?” He only stared at her, and she ducked her head in rare chagrin. “Right, sorry. Forget I asked.”

He cleared his throat and continued. “A fully developed Patronus will take on a corporeal form. For example...” He gave a sweep of his wand, and with a declaration of “ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ” a silvery doe suddenly burst forth and bounded through the air around the classroom. She was beautiful and graceful as she appeared to dance around them, and a part of Merula wondered how a creature as gentle as this one could stop a monster like a Dementor. This was Snape’s Patronus? Looking at the moody Potions Master, she never would have guessed. 

The doe gave one last bound before it vanished into a puff of silvery wisps. Merula was awed, but she tried to smother it when Snape glared at her. “It can take years of practice to summon a full Patronus,” he warned, “and for some people it is harder than for others. Take your time with this spell. It will require significant patience, and for you, will be particularly taxing.”

She barely heard him, eager to try it for herself. It sounded fairly straightforward, and with the right memory, she was certain she would be able to do it. 

_ I can’t wait to see look on Flores’ face when she sees how much more advanced I am than her.  _ She imagined her Patronus would be something powerful and terrifying, like a leopard or a snake.  _ Then I could make it chase her. _

Yes, when Merula summoned her Patronus, no one would ever doubt she was the most powerful witch at Hogwarts again.


	5. Chapter 5

In the absence of their useless DADA instructor, Professor Flitwick had been teaching students the Boggart-Banishing Charm, so Merula went to see him that afternoon for some extra practice, as Snape had suggested. She dragged Ismelda along with her, for she needed competent backup if she wanted her plan to succeed. They practiced on a captured Boggart that Flitwick had been keeping in a locked chest, and fortunately it wasn’t too difficult for her to force it to adopt a humorous form without fainting. Neither was it difficult for Ismelda, although she never stood close enough to prompt it to adapt its form to her, which was disappointing. 

Afterwards, over sandwiches at the Great Hall, Merula told her companion what she had in mind. 

“I don’t see why you would want to create a projection of happiness,” Ismelda stated glumly. 

“I’m not super thrilled about that part of it either,” Merula agreed. “But think about it. These Boggarts have to be coming from the next Cursed Vault, and that means they’re only a fraction of what’s inside. We need to be prepared to face our worst fears, and if  _ Riddikulus _ doesn’t work, then we need to be prepared to fight them. Seeing as you’re not afraid of anything, I need to master the Patronus Charm.”

“Then why do we need a Boggart?”

“I’ll learn faster if it’s a trial by fire. That, and there’s only one way to figure out if the spell actually works.”

“This sounds dangerous,” Ismelda said with a grin. “Let’s do it.”

They spent the next few days scouring the castle between classes, searching every dark corner, empty classroom, and old cabinet for hidden Boggarts. Ismelda finally found one in a small room in an abandoned corridor. 

“I don’t remember there being a door here,” Merula said when she showed it to her. 

“There wasn’t,” Ismelda said. “It just appeared.”

“Weird.”

It appeared to be an old storage room, for it was filled with wooden cabinets. Oddly enough, there was an ornate wardrobe against the opposite wall and a long, padded mat on the floor before it, like the training mats they used in dueling. The wardrobe rocked and shuddered violently. 

“And you’re sure it’s a Boggart?” Merula asked. 

“I checked,” Ismelda said. 

Once again, Merula was disappointed she hadn’t been able to see Ismelda’s Boggart, but rather than ask about it, she decided it was better to focus. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s go over the plan one more time. I’ll stand in front of the wardrobe, and when I say, you unlock it. I’ll then try to summon a Patronus to force it back inside.”

“And if you faint, I’ll use  _ Riddikulus _ to force it back into the wardrobe instead,” Ismelda finished. 

“That won’t happen,” Merula growled. She stepped onto the mat and raised her wand in a defensive stance. “Ready.”

Ismelda cast  _ Alohomora _ , and the doors to the wardrobe burst open as the cloaked creature drifted out. Merula drew up her chosen memory in her mind: singing with the Frog Choir for the first time. It was an achievement she had been dreaming of ever since she was a little girl, and she knew it was something that would make her mother proud. She grabbed onto that pride, that sense of accomplishment, and she threw it out with her words, “ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ”

Nothing happened. The Dementor continued to drift closer, soaking her bones with its cold. Of course it didn’t work. Singing with frogs was a stupid achievement, and it was one she hadn’t even earned. Flores had won the spot, and she had only given it to Merula out of pity. There was nothing to be happy about. 

The last thing she saw was the Dementor lowering its hood. When she opened her eyes, it was to stare at the ceiling from her horizontal position on the mat. Ismelda sat crosslegged by her head. “You fainted,” the other girl informed her unnecessarily. 

Merula brought her hand to her face with a groan. “The memory wasn’t happy enough.” The Dementor had ripped it away from her, like Snape had said it would. 

She sat up, and Ismelda handed her a piece of chocolate out of a bag they had brought from Honeydukes. She nibbled on it half-heartedly. It had only been the first attempt. Even she couldn’t expect to get it right on the first try. 

“This mat is too convenient,” Ismelda said. 

Merula didn’t feel bothered to think too much into it. “They’re probably just storing it here while the Dueling Club is out of session.” She climbed back to her feet. “I’m ready. Open it again.”

Ismelda did, and the Dementor made another appearance. Taking a breath, she called up another memory, an older, more permanently set one. She imagined receiving her letter from Hogwarts. It had been one of the happiest moments of her life. She remembered the excitement and anticipation of representing the next Snyde generation to be sorted into Slytherin. There were so many spells she would learn and things she would do on her way to becoming the greatest witch of all time. With the arrival of the letter, she had seen the whole world laid out at her feet. 

“ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ”

Again, nothing happened. What was so special about receiving a letter? They even sent them out to Mudbloods. And, yeah, she belonged to Slytherin, the House of messed up children with imprisoned or evil parents. If she wanted to truly represent her family, then she would have decided to follow Voldemort and kill and torture people like her parents did. 

The Dementor lowered its hood and sucked in its long, rattling breath. 

She was shaking when she woke up. Merlin’s beard, she was colder than last time. Ismelda handed her another piece of chocolate, and Merula debated what to try next while she caught her breath. So far, both memories hadn’t been happy enough to hold onto. But what if she didn’t use a memory? Anything would work as long as it generated powerful happiness, right?

She rose back into a defensive stance. “Alright. Again.”

The Dementor crept back toward her, and she raised her wand confidently as she imagined her future. By the time she graduated Hogwarts, she would be the most successful witch in their year—maybe even of all time. She would have top marks in every class, far above all the Ravenclaws, and she alone would find the remaining Cursed Vaults, taking the honor and prestige right out from under that idiotic Flores. At the end of her seventh year, the pick of whatever career she wanted would be hers, and respect and praise would be showered on her by all. She would be the happiest person in the world. 

“ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ”

Not even the tiniest flicker of light appeared from her wand tip. It was no surprise, considering how things normally went for her. The most powerful witch in Hogwarts? That was a joke. Three years and she had yet to beat Flores in a single duel. She was no closer to finding a Cursed Vault than she had been when she started, and the one time she had thought she’d found something, Flores had had to come save her from freezing to death. And what respect? People either feared her or laughed at her. She heard the whispers behind her back. Merula Snyde: the daughter of Death Eaters. No one wanted to be around her. The one true friend she had made had gone and stabbed her in the back the first chance she’d gotten. 

The Dementor once again pulled its hood back so she could stare into its dark, empty eyes. She was nothing. 

“What happened that time?” Ismelda asked when Merula was greeted with the familiar sight of the ceiling. 

“It...wasn’t grounded,” she admitted weakly. Now it made sense why it had to be an actual memory. She sat up, trying to appear unconcerned. “So this is a little harder than I thought. No big deal. I’ll get it eventually.”

Only, she didn’t get it on the next attempt. Or the attempt after that. Or the one after that. Each time, her wand failed to produce the shield of light that was supposed to be her Patronus, and each time the Dementor ripped every good thought away. She always woke up with her back on the mat, feeling like her heart had been ripped out of her chest and shoved back in the wrong way, and the feeling worsened with each new failure. 

Chest heaving, Merula brought her hand back to her damp face after fainting yet again. She was both pouring sweat and shaking with cold, and the odd combination made her feel sick.  

“We’re out of chocolate,” Ismelda said, holding up the empty paper bag. 

“Fine,” Merula panted. “We can take a break and come back sometime after the next trip to Hogsmeade. I’ll get this.”

If she didn’t, then there would be no breaking the curse on the next Vault, and more importantly, there would be no defending herself from the Dementors. And if she couldn’t defend herself from the Dementors, then she would be worse off than dead. 

_ I will master this spell, _ she thought.  _ I have to. _

There was too much more for her to lose. 


	6. Chapter 6

Over the following days, Merula spent every spare moment attempting the Patronus Charm, with Ismelda as backup as usual. They went to the room before, after, and in between classes, and Merula even began skipping meals. The encounters with the Boggart-Dementor usually left her without an appetite anyway. When Ismelda wasn’t with her, she would practice the spell by herself in the room, leaving the wardrobe closed. In those instances, she got to the point that she could summon a small, flickering shield of light, but it always died upon first contact with the Dementor. 

Sleep became replaced with nightmares. Every night, she dreamed of being ambushed by one of the monstrous Azkaban guards—in the library, in the bathroom, in the corridor—always in a place where there was no one to hear her scream. And as always, every attempt to defend herself failed. She was forced to watch helplessly as the Dementor bent down to give her its Kiss, pulling her soul from her lips to leave her as a broken, empty shell. To leave her less than human. 

She started spending her nights practicing the charm alone in the Common Room rather than in bed. The sooner she mastered it, the sooner her nightmares would become redundant. 

“Merula, you look even worse,” Flores greeted her in horror during one Potions Class. “Have you seen Madam Pomfrey?”

“Why would I see Madam Pomfrey?” Merula growled. “I’m not sick.”

Flores rolled her eyes. “And I’m a Doxy.”

“Small, hairy, and annoying? Sounds like you.”

“I’m serious.”

“Always have to play the hero, don’t you?” Merula said scathingly. “I don’t need you to save me from whatever nonsense you’ve dreamed up.”

“I don’t want to save you,” Flores responded calmly. “I’m saying you should get help. There’s a difference.”

“I’m  _ fine. _ ”

Snape walked over and peered into Merula’s cauldron with a frown. “That is the worst Wideye Potion I have ever seen,” he said. “Five points from Slytherin.”

“Five points!” she exclaimed indignantly. He couldn’t do that to her. She was in his House!

“Talk back to me and I will make it twenty,” he warned. “I want your focus back where it needs to be, Miss Snyde. If your grades continue to slip, then I will be forced to come up with a more fitting punishment. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“Good,” he said and walked off. 

Flores pretended to focus on her own cauldron, but Merula could see the “I told you so” written in her eyes. 

“Don’t say anything,” Merula told her. 

“I wasn't going to.” 

Truthfully, Potions wasn’t the only class in which her grades were beginning to suffer, but she wasn’t too bothered by it. She would have no problem pulling them back up after she mastered this spell. Snape knew she was capable, so it was an insult that he had decided to punish her for no good reason. But no matter—she would make it up to him soon enough, and then he would realize he never should have doubted her. 

Speaking of doubts, betrayals, and annoying people, Ismelda was exhibiting signs of all three. After about a week of training, she started making up excuses for why she couldn’t go with Merula to the room—excuses Ismelda Murk would normally never make. She was too busy, she had to study, she needed to take her wand in for repair, she was going to find a professor to teach her the Killing Curse... Maybe that last one was accurate, but Ismelda never said no when Merula wanted her to do something. Never. 

“You’re not thinking of running off and joining Flores, are you?” Merula demanded when she caught her in the hallway between classes. 

Ismelda’s eyes widened with uncharacteristic surprise. “No. What would I want with that worthless Mudblood-lover?”

“I wouldn’t know, since apparently you don’t want to hang around me anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Ismelda insisted. 

“Then you can prove it by coming with me later,” Merula said and stalked off before she could respond. If Ismelda didn’t show up later, then nothing she had to say was worth anything. 

Unsurprisingly, Ismelda did indeed show up at the Boggart Room that afternoon, but her appearance pleased Merula nonetheless. Unfortunately, it didn’t bring Merula enough happiness to sustain a Patronus, and she ended up on the floor again and again and again. She was about ready to scream in frustration. She had gone through every memory she could think of—going to the Quidditch World Cup for the first time, receiving her first broom, buying her own wand, waking up to a mountain of gifts under the Christmas tree as a girl—and none of them had worked. Her happiest memories were superficial, and the knowledge made her feel miserable. 

Or maybe it was just the repeated exposure to the Dementor. She would admit that subjugating her body to the monster’s presence probably wasn’t the best thing for her health. When she came to after her latest failed attempt, she felt hot and cold at the same time, and her muscles ached, like she had a fever. Maybe Flores was right. Maybe she was getting sick. 

“You took longer to wake up that time,” Ismelda said warily. 

Merula fought back a groan as she climbed to her feet. “I’m fine,” she panted. “Let’s go again.”

Ismelda hesitated but proceeded to open the wardrobe when Merula gave her a death glare. 

She barely lasted two seconds. When she woke up, she was shivering violently...beneath a blanket? There was a thick blanket over her and a pillow beneath her head, but the ceiling of the Boggart Room still looked down on her. Ismelda sat crosslegged by her head as usual, staring at her with a strangely alert gaze. 

Merula slowly sat up and drew the blanket around her like a cloak. Her head pounded. “Where’d these come from?” she croaked. 

“One of the cabinets,” Ismelda said. 

“Convenient.” Merula took a breath. “Alright. Give me a moment, and then we’ll go one more time.”

“We’re out of chocolate.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s just one more time.” She stumbled to her feet and raised her wand. “Unlock it.”

Ismelda stood but kept her wand down. 

“I said unlock it!” Merula snapped. 

“I don’t want to,” Ismelda said plainly. 

“Fine,” Merula growled and pointed her wand at the wardrobe with a shout of, “ _ Alohomora! _ ” The doors creaked open.

“ _ Riddikulus! _ ” Ismelda exclaimed abruptly, and the Dementor turned into a motionless scarecrow, unable to leave the piece of furniture. She slammed the doors shut and turned the lock. 

“Bloody hell, Ismelda!” Merula roared. “What are you doing?”

Ismelda planted herself firmly in front of the wardrobe. “We’re out of chocolate. We’re done.”

“We’re done when I say we’re done.” Merula aimed her wand at her companion. “Now get out of my way before I crack that thick skull of yours against the wall!”

“You can’t beat me. You’re too weak.”

“Try me.”

Ismelda flicked her wand. “ _ Expelliarmus! _ ”

Merula’s wand ripped itself from her hand. She launched forward to grab it, but she instantly lost her balance and fell to her knees, her head spinning nauseatingly. Ismelda caught it in her free hand instead. 

“Ismelda Murk, you’re a dead woman.”

Said “woman” didn’t flinch at her threat. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Clearly,” Merula scoffed. “You’re not afraid of anything.”

Unexpectedly, Ismelda scowled. “Right. Not anything,” she said sarcastically. “Believe it or not, I do have a Boggart. Wanna see it?  _ Bombarda! _ ”

The wardrobe suddenly exploded, sending smoldering wood shards flying in every direction and nearly knocking Merula over backward in alarm. That was a Fourth-Year spell! When had Ismelda learned it?

Despite having been closest to the explosion, Ismelda was clearly unscathed, and she stared impassively at the remains of the wardrobe as a figure tumbled out of them and flopped lifelessly to the floor. It looked like a person. A very familiar person. 

Merula recoiled in horror as she realized what she was looking at. That was  _ her _ body on the floor. The girl wore the same combat boots and ripped stockings beneath her Slytherin robes, had the same orange streak in her messy brown hair, and possessed the same violet eyes. Except, it couldn’t be her. The girl on the floor was skeleton-thin with deathly pale skin and sunken, unseeing eyes. She was dead, and Merula wasn’t dead. 

“It used to be,” Ismelda began slowly, “that you...Boggart-you would attack me. It was your way of saying you didn’t have a use for me anymore. But lately I’ve been seeing that! Because it doesn’t matter if you don’t want me so long as you’re dead!”

“You idiot! You’re daft if you’ll think I’ll end up like that!”

“Have you looked in a mirror recently?” Ismelda asked, thrusting a finger aggressively at the body. “You look exactly like that!”

Merula rolled her eyes. “You’re overreacting.”

“Says the one quivering on her knees.”

“Shut up!” Merula yelled, angry that she was still visibly shaking. “Your Boggart is stupid! Both of them. Why would I turn my back on you? I’ve never left anyone! You hear that? I’ve never left anyone!” She shot to her feet, but the world tilted as her head spun, knocking her back to her knees. She spat out the rest of her words through gritted teeth. “Everyone that I have ever cared about has left me, so you’re an idiot for thinking I don’t want you. I’ve never left anyone.” She drew the blanket tighter around her to cover her embarrassing shivering and stared at the ground, muttering, “That’s a stupid fear. Such a stupid fear.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence while neither of them moved. She kept her head down, so she wouldn’t have to see the expression on Ismelda’s face. Be it pity, hate, or relief, Merula would have been disappointed with any of them. 

Finally, Ismelda said, “I think this room is enchanted.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because that mirror wasn’t there before.”

Merula reluctantly lifted her gaze from the mat to stare into a tall rectangular mirror that had been propped up against the cabinets. No, it most definitely had not been there when they had entered, and no one had come in that could have propped it up. Honestly, though, its unexplainable presence was the least concerning thing to her at that moment. 

At least that’s what she thought before she saw her reflection. And she truly saw it, not just glanced at it like she did when putting on her makeup in the morning. Ismelda was right; she did look like death. She had lost weight to the point that her robes looked big on her, her skin was horribly pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes, exactly like a prisoner of Azkaban. 

She closed her eyes, unable to look at the mirror or the Boggart on the floor any longer. “Oh, Merlin, I feel sick,” she said weakly. 

“What do you want me to do?” Ismelda asked, not unkindly. 

Merula took a shaky breath. “Clean this up and put the Boggart back. And then...you win, I guess.”

“You’ll take a break?”

“I’ll take a long break.” She put her spinning head in her hands. “I...I think I need to lie down a moment.”

“No, wait—!”

Ismelda’s warning barely registered in her mind; Merula’s body was already pulling her to the ground. Everything just felt so heavy, and the world wouldn’t stop spinning. So, the mat rose to meet her one more time, and then there was nothing. Peaceful nothing. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a longer chapter, and it kind of goes all over the place. Despite this being the second draft of the chapter, I'm still not entirely happy with it, so I may change some parts later. With that in mind, if there is anything you like or dislike about it, let me know, so I can take that into consideration when I get around to editing.

When she woke up this time, it was in the Hospital Wing—a full twenty-four hours later. Apparently Ismelda had dragged her into the corridor before tracking down a professor with some made-up story about a Boggart attack. Madam Pomfrey clearly didn’t believe it. A single attack didn’t contribute to the weight loss from over a week’s worth of not eating or sleeping. But Merula refused to tell the truth, so the matron finally stopped pressing after a while. She did keep Merula confined to bed so she could monitor her rest and nutrient intake, and that meant no classes and limited visitors for a few days. Merula was too exhausted to care. There weren’t many people that would want to visit her anyway. 

Ismelda was the one exception, and she came whenever she was allowed. She would always bring Merula her homework and tell her about everything she had missed in class. Usually it was stories about students falling off their brooms, burning themselves on cauldrons, or being grabbed by Venomous Tentaculas, but it was better than nothing. It was maybe even mildly entertaining. 

Merula did get one other visitor, not long after she first woke up, and it was a visit she had been dreading. 

“I sincerely regret teaching you about this spell,” Professor Snape said coldly. 

Barely able to sit up on her own, she tiredly leaned back into the pillows that propped her up. “I know,” she said quietly. 

“Of all the idiotic things you could have done, this tops the list.”

“I know.” 

“As far as I can see, you have Miss Murk to thank for your life. She is the only reason you’re here instead of in a grave.”

“I know.”

“I hope you have learned a valuable lesson from your stupidity.”

“Believe me, I have,” she scoffed. “I’m done—with Boggarts, Dementors, Patronuses, all of it. It’s not worth it.”

Maybe the sleep deprivation had gone to her head, but she could have sworn he seemed surprised. There was a stretch of silence. Then he muttered, “You are a sorry excuse for a Slytherin.”

She closed her eyes. Considering recent events, that wasn’t news to her. 

But then he added, “I wouldn’t give up just yet.” She peered at him suspiciously, but his face remained impassive. He sighed. “I told you to take your time with this spell. When you finally decide to listen to me, I have no doubt you will find success eventually, but only if you remember to slow down and use your head.”

She shifted the blanket over her, still feeling cold. The thought of trying again was less than desirable at that moment. 

“Get some rest, Miss Snyde,” he ordered after she failed to respond. “I want you fully awake and alert by the time you return to class. You’ll have to go through a few remedial sessions to get your grades back up, but for you, it shouldn’t be a problem. I expect you to earn back the points you lost Slytherin soon.”

“Yes, sir.”

He had never doubted her after all. She really had been acting like an idiot. 

Once she finally stopped shivering, Madam Pomfrey gave the okay for her release, and she left the Hospital Wing to discover that rumors had been running rampant about what had happened. Ismelda had done a surprisingly good job of controlling them in her absence, including by spreading the idea that Merula’s Boggart was far more terrifying than any of their trivial fears. No one could begin to guess what that might be, and the knowledge brought Merula a good degree of satisfaction. 

As it turned out, though, Madam Pomfrey wasn’t the only one that didn’t believe her story. 

“Attacked by a Boggart, huh?” Flores asked without looking up from her potion. 

Merula pretended to focus as well. “Yeah.”

“Well, you look a lot better. I’m glad.”

Now Merula glared at her. “Why would you care?”

Flores calmly met her gaze. Behind her glasses, her sharp eyes bore remarkable similarity to a cat’s. “We may not always get along,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

“You’re welcome.”

Merula didn’t entirely feel like eating again, but she still went with Ismelda to the Great Hall for supper her first evening back, if only to sit somewhere besides in a hospital bed. She mostly pushed her food around her plate while her companion ate. 

“Have you tried a memory of your parents?” Ismelda asked abruptly, midway through her casserole. “You always become disturbingly happy when you talk about them.”

“No,” Merula said as she shoved her half-eaten meal away. She had avoided thinking about her parents because she knew the Dementor would pull up the bad memories too. And she had a lot of bad memories when it came to her parents. 

Ismelda shrugged. “Well, what more do you have to lose?”

She honestly didn’t know anymore, and it was for that reason that they returned to the Boggart Room one more time that weekend—when they didn’t have to worry about homework or classes. Merula stood on the mat before the repaired wardrobe with her wand in her hand, but she made no move to raise it. A part of her knew it would have to come to this, but she’d desperately hoped it wouldn’t. There were too many complicated emotions for her to separate out any single one. 

“You don’t look happy,” Ismelda said. “Then again, I wouldn’t know.”

Merula slowed her breathing. Complicated or not, she had run out of memories to try. This was all that was left. 

“Alright,” she declared, resuming her defensive stance. “Do it.”

One more time, the doors to the wardrobe creaked open as Ismelda released the lock, and one more time, the Boggart-Dementor made its appearance, dark cloak, withered skin, and all. Merula fought the urge to shudder when the cold pricked her skin, and she focused on holding onto her memory—her memory of her mother. She imagined lying in bed as a little girl while her mum stroked her hair and sang her to sleep. Her mum had the most enchanting voice—magical in a way that could never be replicated with a wand. Whenever Merula hadn’t wanted to sleep, she would sing with her. 

_ Such a beautiful voice. You’re going to be great, Little Bird. Maybe greater than me. You’ll outshine all of them, I know it. _

“ _Expecto_ _Patronum!_ ”

A flicker of light sparked from her wand tip and grew stronger, temporarily stalling the Dementor in its approach. She could feel the light running from a warmth in her chest, so she held onto that warmth and didn’t let go, even when it began to burn her. Another memory rose up behind her eyes, fighting to push the other one out. She heard her mother’s voice again, this time with an edge to it. 

_ Something’s happened, Little Bird. It’s not safe for us right now, so I need you to go to your aunt’s until this all blows over.  _

_ What about you? _

_ Your father and I will be fine. We just need to take care of a few things, and then we’ll be right back. I promise. _

_ Where are you going? _

_ I can’t tell you. But if anyone asks, we’re in Paris visiting your father’s relatives.  _

_ But you’re not going to Paris.  _

_ No. Don’t give me that pitiful look. You’re tougher than that. Listen, if something does happen—and I’m not saying it will—but if something does happen and we don’t come back, you need to be strong. And you are strong, Little Bird, even stronger than I was at your age. You don’t need us.  _

_ Tell me where you’re going.  _

_ I can’t. Pay attention to every word I say. After tonight, people are going to talk—about me, your father, even you.  _

_ What are they going to say? _

_ It doesn’t matter. Don’t listen. Instead, I want you to show them what a powerful witch you are. Never give anyone a reason to look down on you. If they don’t respect you, then make them fear you. Promise me.  _

_ Mum... _

_ Promise me.  _

_ I promise.  _

_ Good. And wipe that look off your face. We’ll be back soon. _

Merula’s shield flickered and shrank, and the Dementor crept closer. 

_ But you didn’t come back, Mum. You broke your promise when you got yourself arrested. That’s okay, though, because you were right about one thing: I am strong. _

She pushed back against the memory, and her Patronus shield pulsed and grew, stalling the Dementor again. 

_ Because of you, I had to grow up early. I learned to take care of myself, so yeah, I don’t need you.  _

She took a step forward, forcing the Dementor back. In her chest, there was a slow, smoldering ache, like the fairy was catching fire. Another step forward. The Dementor flinched with something akin to alarm and drifted further back. 

_ Sometimes I think I would trade all my strength just to have you and Dad back, but you would hate that, wouldn’t you? I have to be strong. Well, guess what? I’ll always be stronger than you while you’re rotting away in Azkaban. _

She hesitated, but so did the Dementor. It hovered just out of reach of her Patronus, uncertain if it should attempt to break it. 

_ That’s okay. I’ll just keep singing on my own. I’m damn good at it. _

With a determined shout, she lunged forward, and the Dementor quickly backpedaled—right into the open wardrobe. Ismelda rushed over and slammed the doors shut just as the light from Merula’s wand died. She doubled over, gasping for breath. Even without the dark creature, one more thought pushed through, one that always sat right below the surface. 

_ But you didn’t have to leave, Mum. Nothing would have brought Voldemort back. I’d rather sing with you instead. _

“You did it,” Ismelda exclaimed with rare excitement. 

Yes, Merula had done it. And it had hurt more than anything. Singing with her mum had been her favorite thing in the world, and now she would never sing with her again. 

“You know,” Ismelda said as Merula straightened, “I think I’ve underestimated happiness. If I had known it could be this painful, then I would have given it a shot a long time ago.”

Merula stared at her in confusion before she realized that her vision was still blurry despite the absence of the Dementor. She rubbed her eyes to find a mix of warm water and smeared eye shadow on the back of her hand, almost as if she had been crying. But that couldn’t be right. She never cried. She wasn’t that weak. 

“We’re done,” she muttered, turning her face away from Ismelda. “Get rid of the Boggart.”

Ismelda’s grin was audible. “Seriously?”

“Banish it. I never want to see it again,” Merula ordered and then stormed out of the room, going...she didn’t know where. She just needed to put as much distance between herself and that monster as possible. If she had to go through  _ that _ every time in order to cast a Patronus, then she was done with this spell forever. 

She was never going to be able to cast a full Patronus. Her life was too ruined. 

The smoldering ache burned fiercer, spreading upward from her chest to catch in her throat and prick behind her eyes, and she realized in horror that she truly was in danger of crying. No, no, no, she couldn’t let anyone see that.

She broke into a near sprint, turning corners blindly as she searched for someplace, anyplace to hide away—like a coward. A black-robed figure materialized around another corner, and she spun on her heel in a desperate attempt to change direction. The figure grabbed her arm and yanked her back, causing her to yelp in alarm and, to her dismay, look into the face of her capturer. 

“Snyde!” Professor Snape snapped. “Just where do you think you’re going?” He studied her face and met her eyes before she could look away. His expression remained stoic, although he released her. “Your timing is impeccable,” he said, his tone notably calmer. “I could have sworn I saw someone going into the Potions Storeroom when no student is supposed to be in there this late in the evening. I would go investigate myself, but as it would be, I am very busy right now. However, I know you wouldn’t mind looking in there for me.”

“Right away, Professor,” she said with a mix of chagrin and grateful relief. 

“Make sure you take your time and check carefully, but if you don’t find anything, don’t bother reporting back.”

“Of course, sir. Thank you,” she said quietly and swiftly walked away, changing her course for the storeroom. Talk about embarrassing—Snape was one of the last people she wanted to catch her in this state, but at least it could have been worse. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her at a low point this month anyway. 

God, when had she become so pathetic?

She pushed through the door to the, sure enough, empty storeroom and immediately sank to the cold stone floor. Surrounded by silent shelves of jarred creature and plant parts, she wrapped her arms around her legs and pressed her forehead to her knees as she struggled to breathe. 

_ Real witches don’t cry, _ she mentally chanted, digging her nails into her skin through her stockings.  _ Real witches don’t cry. Real witches don’t... _

But it was too late. The tears had been flowing before she had even made it to the room. She bit her tongue to clamp down on a sob before it could become audible, but her lungs expanded against her will, forcing her to gasp. 

_ Pathetic. So pathetic. _ Her mother’s words, still with her. 

Her life was ruined. Any remotely happy childhood memory tainted, if not destroyed. Her parents had tainted her memories when they chose Voldemort over her, and her friends had tainted her memories when they abandoned her. She didn’t care if she was destined to be alone, so she hated that her one anchor was the woman that had brought as much pain into her life as happiness, making it impossible to untangle the two, even with her Patronus. Why couldn’t she just be happy on her own?

Dear Merlin, she never should have attempted this spell. 

The door creaked open. “Go away!” she yelled hoarsely, without lifting her head. 

There was silence. Then,  _ flip-plop! _ She looked up in confusion at the strange sound to see a little green toad on the floor before her. Dennis. Of course it had to be Dennis. She’d recognize her choir partner anywhere. Which meant that, not far behind, had to be...

“Tulip,” she growled. “I said go away.”

Tulip’s red hair and dark eyes poked through the door, and her Zonko’s necklace swung from her neck. “This is surprisingly undignified,” the Ravenclaw said, “even for you.”

“What do you want?”

“I want what Dennis wants, and he wanted to come in here, so I followed him.” She sat down on the floor, making herself quite comfortable.

“You’re not going away,” Merula said unhappily. 

“An accurate observation,” Tulip stated. “I’ll leave when Dennis leaves.”

The toad clearly had no intention of going anywhere anytime soon, for he hopped onto Merula’s knees. Annoyed, she took him in her hands, and he croaked happily. 

“He misses you,” Tulip added. 

“I see him once a week.”

“Not lately.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a clean handkerchief, which she passed to Merula. “There have been a lot of rumors circulating about you. Well, more than normal.”

Carefully shifting Dennis to one hand, Merula accepted the cloth without thanks and began to wipe away her smeared makeup. “I thought you didn’t have time for rumors.”

“I have time for anything that interests me. What actually happened?”

“You really want to know?” she asked bitterly. “I can’t cast a Patronus, and it’s your fault.”

Tulip raised her eyebrows. “I fail to see the connection.”

“Hogwarts was supposed to be my chance to start fresh, make new memories. And you had to go and ruin it when you stabbed me in the back. I don’t have a single memory that’s not tainted, not from when I was a girl and not now.”

Tulip hesitated, but then said unexpectedly, “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not!” Merula snarled. “If you were truly sorry, then you wouldn’t be working against me with Flores.”

“I’m not working against you.”

Merula glared at her, and Tulip shifted uncomfortably. 

“I don’t pretend like what I did was okay,” she said quietly. “You were right when you said I don’t deserve to have any friends. But, for some reason I can’t explain, Lily Flores is offering me a second chance, so I’ll stick by her as long as she places her trust in me.”

“She’s too nice for her own good,” Merula scoffed. 

“That may be true.”

“I never should have trusted you.”

“That as well.” Tulip leaned back, transferring her weight to her palms. “While your parents were teaching you the Killing Curse, mine were teaching me how to have tea with the Minister of Magic. At first glance, it seemed a fitting match.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“You’re right, sorry, it’s not.” She leaned forward again and wiped the dirt from her hands. “You really can’t cast a Patronus?”

“I can. Sort of. It just...pulls the bad stuff up too.”

“What memories have you used so far?”

Against her better judgement, Merula told her. Tulip listened without interrupting, and her thoughts visibly sparked behind her dark brown eyes. If there was ever a look that screamed Ravenclaw, she had it, and it was clear she had  _ something _ in mind. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Merula prompted. 

“I’m thinking a few things. For one, just because that memory worked, doesn’t mean you have to use it.”

“I told you, I’m out of other ideas.”

“You’ve had all the right ideas; you just need to connect them.”

“Explain.”

“You need a powerful, grounded memory—one that’s rooted in your past so it can’t be ripped from you. But it also needs to bring you happiness in the present so it won’t bring as many of the bad memories with it. So, what is something that makes you happy now that you can connect to your past?”

Merula absentmindedly stroked Dennis. “You’re not telling me it’s that simple,” she said in disbelief. 

“Simple, yes. Easy, no. And it’s just a theory. I can’t say I’ve ever tried it.”

“Then the Frog Choir memory should have worked.”

Tulip shrugged. “Possibly, if you approached it from a new angle.”

Merula let out a breath. “Alright. I can’t belief I’m saying this, but I’ll give it a shot.”

The Ravenclaw smirked. “You’re welcome.”

“If you tell Flores about any of this, I will curse you.”

“Don’t worry,” Tulip said sincerely. “We may not be friends anymore, but I’ve kept our secrets between us. I owe you that.”

“Good.” Merula hesitated before belatedly adding, “And thank you.”

“Speaking of curses, you haven’t taught Ismelda the Killing Curse, have you?”

“Hell no. I’m not stupid. She doesn’t know I know it.”

“That’s a wise decision.”

“Yeah, I know.”


	8. Chapter 8

Merula perched on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard, listening to the soothing splashing of the water behind her. The stars shone brightly in the cloudless night sky, and a pleasant breeze blew through the deserted gathering place. The weather had been getting warmer lately, warning that summer was approaching fast. Too fast. If she didn’t find the Cursed Vault soon, then she would have to wait another few months. That was another few months spent trapped in an empty house. 

Agitated by the thought, she hopped to her feet and then forced herself to take a calming breath. Worrying about the future was the opposite of what she needed to be doing at that moment. She closed her eyes and listened to the fountain, letting the cool night breeze tousle her hair. One last try. 

“Tulip, you better be right about this,” she muttered as she drew her wand. 

Tulip had asked her what made her happy now. There was singing with the Frog Choir of course—that was tied in with her past, but for some reason another memory kept coming to mind. Her thoughts were repeatedly drawn to that Christmas here at Hogwarts. In a desperate attempt to stay busy, she had thrown herself so far into her studies that she had fallen asleep at one of the tables in the Great Hall. Flores of all people had kept trying to approach her, no matter how many times she told her to stay away, and the Ravenclaw had used the opportunity to practically force a Christmas present onto Merula. 

It had been a songbook. She still had it—used it even. Never could she have imagined that someone would give her a present, much less something she wanted, and that moment had been so unexpectedly pleasant that she had actually smiled. She didn’t remember the last time she had smiled like that. 

And later, when she had been standing out in the snow feeling miserable for herself, Flores had joined her and badgered her into demonstrating the Snow-Making Charm. Merula could easily recall the stupidly giddy look of awe on the girl’s face as she caused snowflakes to dance around them. 

As ridiculous as that moment had been, and as much as Merula had still been sulking, it had helped her to realize something: she was capable of bringing happiness to other people. 

Her parents had taught her how to bring every kind of pain imaginable, be it with a wand or a word. They had even taught her how to bring death. But not everything they had taught her could be used to hurt others. The Snow-Making Charm—that was one of her mum’s favorite spells, and it had caused Flores to grin like an idiot as she showed it off to her friends. And when Merula sang, people listened. They listened and smiled and clapped. The things that had brought her so much joy as a kid, those that she had done with her parents, could still bring her joy without her parents now. They were the little sparks of light in her life, the good that had survived in the face of the bad, and people’s reactions proved it. 

She was doing just fine without her parents. She was doing just fine without her mum. She was fine. 

She called up an image in her mind—just an image, nothing more. It was something that could never be tainted or taken from her because there was nothing dark about it. It wasn’t of her mother or a moment in her childhood, although it had ties to them. It wasn’t even real exactly, although the emotions were. She pictured a songbook in the snow—pure, simple, and happy, like that of a genuine smile. There was no cold to be found in that snow, only a calm, non-burning warmth. 

She opened her eyes. “ _Expecto_ _Patronum!_ ”

A light, as bright and pure as the snow in her mind, burst forth from her wand tip and began to pulse and twirl like it was dancing to a happy song. The light bent and condensed into a small, blinding ball, and then...it spread its wings. 

A little silver bird darted around her, spinning and gliding on its own wind. It beat its tiny wings frantically, going up, up, up, before tilting forward into a rocketing dive. It spread its feathers a split second before striking the water of the fountain and shot back up over her head. She pivoted on the balls of her feet, trying to keep up with it, and she laughed as did so—a true, real laugh. She had done it. She had finally done it. 

She raised her free hand and indicated with her wand for it to come back to her, and the little bird fluttered down to grip her finger with its small feet. It was warm and fluid, and she felt like she was holding a ball of sunshine on a nice spring day. At a glance, the bird was about the size and shape of a thrush, and despite not knowing much about birds, somehow she knew exactly what it was. It was a blackbird. She knew without a doubt that it was a blackbird, and it was beautiful and free. 

“Yes!” she exclaimed in happiness—complete, overwhelming happiness. 

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice demanded. 

The little bird vanished like a dying puff of smoke, and she immediately dropped to a crouch, murmuring a Disillusionment Charm as she did so. The grizzly old caretaker hobbled out into the courtyard with a lantern in his hand; Mrs. Norris slunk by his ankles. 

“Out past your bedtime, are we?” Filch growled. “Come out, you little troublemaker. I know you’re here.”

She held perfectly still. As long as she didn’t move, the Squib wouldn’t be able to find her.

Mrs. Norris stalked toward her with ears pricked and alert. Merula held her breath. 

A too long beat passed. Then, “The filthy little beast probably fled,” Filch grumbled. “Come along, my sweet. We’ll find them. No student sneaks out of bed on my watch.”

The cat gave one last sniff in Merula’s direction before turning to follow him back into the castle.

She sighed in relief and then, as quickly and carefully as possible, returned to Slytherin House. It was an effort not to run up the stairs to the Third Year Dormitory, but she didn’t want to wake any of the other girls. Any of them except one. 

“Ismelda,” she whispered excitedly as she shook her sleeping companion. “Ismelda, get up.”

“No,” Ismelda grumbled, pulling her pillow over her head. 

Well, what did you know, there was another situation in which she would say no. 

“Come on,” Merula hissed. “Get your lazy arse out of bed. You have to see this.”

“I. Will. Curse. You.”

“No, you won’t.”

Ismelda sighed and tiredly sat up. “Fine. See what?”

“I did it.”

“What?”

“Come on.”

Merula brought her down to the empty Common Room, which was lit at this time only by the dying fire in the fireplace. She grinned and drew her wand, once again calling up the image of the songbook in the snow. “Watch this. _Expecto_ _Patronum!_ ”

The little bird again burst forth from her wand tip and began to flutter around, spreading its light around the dim room. 

“It’s a bird?” Ismelda said hesitantly. 

“A blackbird. Definitely a blackbird.”

“It’s so small and...cutesy.”

Faintly annoyed, Merula let the bird fade away. “Forget about that,” she said, refusing to let anything destroy her excitement. “Look, do you realize what this means? We’re finally ready to take on the Cursed Vault! I know I can face my Boggart, and no offense, but I don’t think yours is going to put up much of a fight.”

“None taken. Small problem though.”

“What is it?”

“We don’t know where the Vault is.”

Merula waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Flores and Tulip are getting close. We just have to follow them, and when they find it, we’ll take it from them. Simple.”

“They’ll probably have Barnaby with them.”

That  _ was _ a problem. Barnaby was a powerful dueler, and if he chose to fight them, Merula doubted that even she could win. 

Still, she attempted to appear unconcerned. “Ismelda Murk, are you shying away from a fight?” she asked. 

Ismelda scoffed. “Hah! Definitely not.”

“Good.”

There was a beat of silence. “So...a blackbird, huh?” Ismelda said slowly. 

“Yeah.”

“That’s...kind of dark.”

“You’re really trying, aren’t you?”

“I made an effort.”

“How painful was that?”

“You don’t want to know. Are you going to show it to Flores?”

“And have her laugh at me? Definitely not.”

“I do think it’s cool. I’m just going to pass on trying the spell for myself.”

“Ismelda?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and go back to bed.”

“Thank you.”

Indeed, within seconds of returning to the dormitory, Ismelda fell back asleep faster than you could say  _ Nox _ . Merula, on the other hand, was far too excited to feel tired, and even though she knew she would regret it in the morning, she spent most of the night lying in bed with her eyes wide open and mind buzzing. 

She had found her Patronus. Soon the Cursed Vault would be hers, and breaking its curse would be her achievement and no one else’s. It would be a testament to what she could overcome and accomplish on her own. By Merlin, she had gone through a lot to get to this point, but things were finally looking up. 

“Well done,” Snape said when she demonstrated the charm for him after Potions on Monday. He didn’t quite smile, but he came close. That was more than he ever did on a good day. “I rarely say this, but I will admit I am highly impressed. Within a few weeks, you have mastered a spell that many could never master in a number of years. Thirty points to Slytherin—for your dedication and perseverance.”

“Thank you, Professor!” she exclaimed. It was safe to say she had won back those five points. 

“I would have made it fifty, but we have already discussed the reason that cannot be the case.”

Because she had topped the list of idiotic things with her stupidity. Half-conscious or not at the time, she remembered that discussion clearly. “Yes, sir, I know.”

“I hope you see now why there was never any need for such reckless behavior or, dare I say, self-pity.”

“I may have an idea,” she said politely, fighting the urge to cringe. 

“Good,” he said in satisfaction. “Might I ask what you plan to do with this spell now that you’ve learned it?”

“Now?” She grinned. “Let’s just say that now I’m ready for anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the scientific name of the common blackbird is Turdus merula. Even if you didn't know that, there's a good chance you saw this coming when I not so subtly used the "Little Bird" nickname. My original plan had been to make her Patronus a leopard, but the idea of this tough character having a tiny bird as her Patronus was too good to resist, especially after learning some of the symbolism behind it. I highly recommend looking up blackbird facts and symbolism; it's really interesting!


	9. Chapter 9

She would admit that sometimes she could be wrong. Never aloud of course, and even then only with the utmost reluctance. But it didn’t matter that she had been wrong because it wasn’t her fault. No, her anger was aimed at one person. Multiple people actually, but right now the brunt of it was aimed at one person in particular. 

She was going to kill him. And not with the Killing Curse; that would be too fast. She wanted to make him hurt. Slowly. Ismelda had been right: they should have tortured him. 

People fled from her path as she stormed to the Training Grounds, wand already in her hand. He was there as expected, looking as much of a mess as usual—shirt untucked, collar upturned, shoes unbuckled, and robes thrown carelessly on the ground. He had the appearance of a stubborn wall with the way he squared his shoulders and planted his feet firmly in the grass, firing spell after blindingly powerful spell into the training dummies. He also had his back to her. 

“Barnaby!” she roared. 

He whirled around with an expression of wide-eyed alarm, which quickly turned into white-faced terror when he saw her charging toward him. On a good day, that terrified look would have brought her plenty of satisfaction. Today had not been a good day. 

“Barnaby Lee!”

He began to swiftly walk in the opposite direction. 

“Barnaby Lee, you coward! Get your arse over here or I’ll put you in so much pain you’d wish you were dead!”

He didn’t stop. No surprise there. 

She pointed her wand at him with a shout of “ _ Flipendo! _ ” and the spell hit him square in the back, causing him to instantly face-plant in the grass. She caught up with him before he finished lumbering to his feet. 

He faced her with a dueling stance, although there was uncertainty in his defensively curled shoulders and wide green eyes. “I don’t want to fight you,” he said warily, “but I will if I have to. You can’t beat me alone.”

They both knew he was right, seeing that he had single-handedly and simultaneously left her and Ismelda with a number of bruises just hours before, but she still didn’t lower her wand from where it was pointed at his chest. “You’re a traitor and a coward,” she growled. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

“I protected my friend,” he said without hesitation. “And we broke the curse on the school.”

“I was your friend!” she snarled. “I was supposed to be the one to break the curse, not  _ her! _ ”

“Lily only wants to find her brother,” he insisted. “You didn’t have to try to fight her. She would have let you join us too.”

“You don’t get it. I didn’t endure weeks of hell just to be another one of her lackeys. I ended up in the bloody Hospital Wing training for this, and she still gets all the glory!”

“Crikey, is that what happened?” he asked, appearing concerned. “I’d heard it was a Boggart attack.”

“Forget about it,” she said, annoyed by his reaction. “That’s not important.”

“And I hadn’t realized Dumbledore called Lily up to his office to give her glory. I would have thought it’s because she’s in trouble.”

That gave Merula pause. “What?”

“Dumbledore heard what happened and called her to his office. She’s there right now. Has been for a while.”

She shook her head, trying to straighten her thoughts. “Barnaby, focus. We’re not talking about Lily...Flores.”

He looked confused. “I thought we were.”

“No, dung brain! We were talking about how you ruined everything!”

“What did I do again?”

She ran a hand through her hair, about ready to tear it out in frustration. “How can one person be this stupid?” she growled. “You betrayed me and blocked me from getting into the Vault! Because of you, everything I’ve done—everything I’ve gone through has been for nothing!”

His expression became one of genuine hurt, and it only made her angrier. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you,” he said, holding no concept of sarcasm, “but you can be really mean. Lily’s never mean to me. She never orders me around, and she doesn’t care who my family is. I’d rather be around her...even if that means losing you as a friend.”

It felt like she was the one that had been struck with the Knockback Jinx. For a moment, all the air left her lungs as the invisible blow knocked the wind out of her, and with it, the fairy in her chest returned to drag its tiny claws along her heart. Then she exploded. “I don’t want to hear another word about Lily Flores!” she roared. “I’m not some villain in her bloody story! I don’t want anything to do with her, so there wouldn’t be a problem if she would just stay out of my way. In fact, why don’t you just stay out of my way too? I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody. I’m just fine on my own! I’m better than fine! You want to see what I can do on my own? Watch this! _Expecto_ _Patronum!_ ”

He flinched as she raised her wand to the sky, but then he relaxed into a passive stance as he watched the little blackbird dart in cheerful circles around them. His eyes followed the small bundle of light with a bright look of calm wonder. “That’s beautiful,” he said in awe. 

Her hand fell to her side, causing the bird to vanish with the abrupt realization. Her Patronus was tied to the girl she hated. That meant her happiness was tied to the girl she hated. 

“Merlin’s arse,” she breathed. “Merlin’s—!” She proceeded to spit out a string of curses that made Barnaby turn bright red. “What are you doing?” she demanded when she noticed that he was still standing there passively. “Raise your wand!”

He gave her a sympathetic look and responded with a calm but firm, “No.”

“Raise your wand and fight me like real wizard, you coward.”

He took a step toward her. 

“What are you doing? Don’t come any closer or I’ll...Wait! No, no, no, stop—!” Her words ended in an undignified squeak as he crossed the distance between them in a few long-legged strides and tackled her in a clumsy hug. She struggled against him, but in addition to being a full head taller than her and at least twice her weight, he had her arms pinned uselessly to her sides. “Let go of me!” she gasped, continuing to squirm. “I said let go of me, you dumb lug! Let go!”

“I’ll let you go when you feel better.”

“Feel better? I can’t breathe!” Her face was pressed into his chest, which smelled strongly of sweat and sandalwood. Still, he didn’t let go. If anyone else walked out to train and saw them like this, then she would die of embarrassment. Maybe he would release her if she played dead. Deciding it was worth a shot, she went limp in his arms and allowed him to hold her up on his own. 

He gently pet her hair, making it messier than it already was. “Do you feel better now?” he asked cheerfully. 

“If I say yes, will you let me go?”

“Of course.”

“Then, yes, I feel better.”

He released her, and she took a large step back, quickly scanning their surroundings. Fortunately, the field remained empty; no one had witnessed their physical contact. Thank goodness. The last thing she needed was even more rumors going around about her, and she doubted Ismelda would save her from them this time. 

“What was that for?” she asked, feeling highly uncomfortable. 

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “You looked like you needed a hug.”

“Well, I’m good now, thanks.” She didn’t want to go through that again. If she was ever snatched by the giant squid, then she imagined that’s what it would be like. 

“You’re welcome!” he exclaimed with a grin. 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I...uh, what were we talking about again?”

“Merlin’s unmentionables.”

“Right...”

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” he said earnestly, “but I really think you should give Lily a chance. She wouldn’t care about your past. Well, she would, but in the best way possible.”

“It’s not that simple,” she sighed, too tired to feel angry anymore. 

The confused look was back. “I don’t understand.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

He stared at her in concern for several long seconds before glancing over to where his robes lay by the training dummies. “I should go check on her, but I want to make sure you’re okay first.”

His words caught her so far off guard that she didn’t know how to respond. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

“I...I don’t know,” she stuttered and then instantly regretted it. But the words had slipped out on their own. When had been the last time someone had asked her if she was okay?

Flores, in Potions. It always went back to Flores. 

His concern visibly increased. “Do you need another hug?” he asked. 

“No!” she exclaimed, instinctively taking another step back. “No, I mean, I’m fine! I’m actually fine.”

“That’s good,” he laughed, and she couldn’t tell if he believed her or was simply amused by her reaction. Reading this situation had become impossible. “I’ll go find Lily then,” he said pleasantly. “See you around.” With that, he strode off, leaving her standing alone in the field. 

She stood there long after he had gone into the castle, feeling too unsettled to move or even think straight. The sun added to her stupefied state as it assaulted her heavy black robes and caused her to sweat. At least, she hoped it was her sweat and not Barnaby’s, otherwise she would need to live in the bath for the rest of the day. 

Barnaby Lee had just hugged her. The entire world had gone mad. 

The fluttering of wings drew her gaze upward, and she tilted her head back to get a look at a flock of birds flying overhead. As quick as they came, they vanished into the light’s glare before she could identify them, so feeling faintly disappointed, she trudged back across the grass toward the castle. 

Maybe summer break would be a good thing. She could use some time to recover from...whatever this year had been. 

She nearly snorted at the thought. Life was never dull. She could always count on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to think Barnaby may be one of the smartest characters, in his own way. This chapter was way too much fun to write. Only one chapter left to go! We're nearing the end.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny; the day after I started writing this story, they starting dropping hints about the Patronus Charm. Then a few days after I finished it (I finished this chapter a little while ago), they released the Patronus side quest. Days. I've never had a story jossed this quickly. Regardless, here it is, still struggling to cling to canon compliance, the final chapter.

“And congratulations to Ravenclaw, this year’s winner of the House Cup!”

A collective groan ran up and down the Slytherin table as the Ravenclaws burst into cheers, hugs, and high-fives. A few Slytherins laid their heads on the table in hopeless dejection, while others grumbled out their discontent. 

“They won again.”

“That’s the third year in a row.”

“Sometimes I swear this competition is rigged.”

“I mean, they’re kinda smart...”

“But winning by several hundred points?”

Ismelda turned her bored gaze toward Merula, who was sitting directly across from her. “What do you think?” she asked lazily. 

Merula shrugged her slumped shoulders. She leaned forward to rest her chin on her arms, which were crossed on the table. “I honestly don’t care,” she sighed. The House Cup had been the last thing on her mind this year. There had been bigger things to worry about. 

“I never understand this competition anyways,” Ismelda said. “There’s no reward. All it does is force you to behave, and who wants to act like a dog?”

“Obviously Ravenclaw,” Merula muttered. And it was clear Dumbledore had one prize hound in particular. But that was fine. Flores could continue doing things her way, and Merula would continue to do things her own way. In the end, only one of them would come out on top because only one of them was willing to do whatever it took to get there, and that person wouldn’t be Flores. 

“What do you want to do on the ride back?” Ismelda asked, interrupting her thoughts. 

“Sleep,” Merula said tiredly. “Hey, do you think I could put myself in an enchanted sleep for the entire summer?”

It was meant as a joke, but she couldn’t tell if Ismelda’s response was: “You would probably die,” she stated.

“A kip it is then. Get something for me if the trolley comes by.”

“What do you want?”

“Doesn’t matter. Anything but chocolate.”

She thought she saw Ismelda’s lips twitch, as if in amusement, but she could have been mistaken. “Will do.”

The rest of the End of Term Feast was subdued and uneventful for her and her House. She wasn’t in the mood to socialize—not that she ever was, although she did give a semi-friendly farewell to Felix, as this had been his last year. Her Prefect was one of the few people she didn’t dislike, even if he did have an annoying obsession over House Points. 

The train ride was as uneventful as the feast. Merula and Ismelda got a compartment of their own, albeit joined by Lizard due to the lack of room. As promised, Merula slept through most of the ride, blissfully unaware of the snide comments taking place as an annoyed Ismelda struggled to get the chatty Lizard to shut up. In fact, when Merula woke up, she felt unusually well-rested, and the licorice wands Ismelda had saved for her were almost enough to put her in a good mood. Almost. 

Between the steam from the train, the heat-soaked concrete, and the hundreds of warm bodies pushing against each other, she started sweating as soon as she hauled her trunk and broom onto Platform 9 3/4. The excited shouts and chatter were deafening, and the more she scanned the heads of happily reunited families, the more her stomach sank. 

“Summer is going to be boring,” Ismelda sighed. 

_ I almost hope so, _ Merula thought but didn’t say. She didn’t look forward to being bored out of her mind, but she would take that boredom in exchange for the absence of death threats. 

Her eyes fell on a well-dressed woman standing stiffly at the edge of the crowd, and she fought the urge to groan. “There’s my aunt,” she said unenthusiastically. “I’ll see you in the fall.”

“See you,” Ismelda responded, and she could have sworn she seemed dejected. But even if that was the case, Merula had no appropriate parting words to leave her with, so she simply trudged off toward the woman with violet eyes. 

Her aunt looked down on her as she approached. “Do you have everything?” she asked by way of greeting, never mind that they hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year. 

“Yes,” Merula replied flatly. 

“Let’s hurry it up then. I want to beat the traffic so I can get the car off the ground without the Muggles noticing.”

She bit her tongue. Things were already off to a great start. 

The only sounds that passed between them on the walk out of King’s Cross were the squeaking of Merula’s trolley and the clicking of her aunt’s heels on the floor. Neither was anything said while Merula put her belongings in the back of the car, nor while they drove out of London. Only when the car was cloaked and in the air did her aunt speak. 

“I received a promotion at work,” she said. There was a long beat, and when Merula didn’t respond, she continued, “I’ll be very busy coming up, so it would be best if you took the bus to the station from now on, until you’re old enough to use magic outside of school.”

Merula wrinkled her nose. “With Muggles?” she asked in disgust. 

“Don’t complain unless you have a better suggestion.”

_ That you actually give a murtlap’s arse about me, _ she thought but once again didn’t say. Going down that road would be pointless, mostly because there wasn’t any road to go down. “Fine,” she muttered instead. “I’ll take the Muggle death trap.”

“Good girl,” her aunt said, keeping her eyes on the sky in front of them. “I’ll admit, I wanted to wait until you at least looked a bit older. You know, filled out some. But that probably won’t happen anytime soon. I don’t know how you’re still so scrawny, but maybe it will work to your benefit.”

She was saying Merula would be less of a target because she looked small and weak. Great. 

“I was ill for a while,” Merula murmured. She hated playing the weakness card, but if she could get a reaction—just an ounce of genuine concern—then she would be tempted to feel more than apathy toward her guardian. 

“That’s a shame,” her aunt said distractedly, and then said nothing more. 

With a suppressed sigh, Merula laid her head against the window and spent the rest of the flight watching the clouds. It had been worth a shot. 

Her aunt didn’t remove the Disillusionment Charm from the car until after they had landed within the gates of the manor, even though they had left the Muggle towns many miles behind them, and as she helped levitate Merula’s trunk to the front doors, her eyes darted around nervously. The large house loomed over them, appearing eerily dark and still in the twilight, and as if on cue, an owl hooted nearby. They only needed a spontaneous thunderstorm to complete the ominous atmosphere. Home sweet home. 

“Well? Hurry up!” her aunt snapped when Merula hesitated before unlocking the doors. 

She finished turning the key—the sole thing that could open them—and pulled open the doors to reveal...an empty entrance hall. Big surprise. 

“ _Homenum_ _Revelio,_ ” her aunt murmured and then nodded in relieved satisfaction. “All clear,” she said, despite the fact that she continued to shift anxiously. “I made sure there’s food available, and I’ll come by in a few days with groceries. Send me an owl if there’s anything in particular you need. Are you all set?”

So she wasn’t even staying for supper. That was typical. 

“I’ll be fine,” Merula said. “Always am.”  _ At absolutely no thanks to you. _

Her aunt was already halfway out the doors. “Then I’ll see you in a few days. Stay out of trouble,” she said and closed the doors behind her. 

“There’s no trouble for me to get into,” Merula muttered, but she doubted her aunt heard her. The car engine roared to life and faded away within seconds, leaving her alone in the abandoned silence of the house. She sat down on her trunk, feeling no motivation to haul her heavy belongings up the stairs to her room. Would the Ministry care if she levitated them?

A faint noise caught her attention, and she hopped to her feet, drawing her wand as she did so. “Who’s there?” she demanded. There was no answer, but she heard it again—a light, fluttering sound. Cautiously, she crept down the dark hall, desperately hoping it wasn’t Doxies again. It was doubtful she had the ingredients to make  _ another _ batch of Doxycide. 

The sound grew stronger in the direction of the parlor, but the second she entered the room, it vanished. She walked a circle around the room, glanced in the fireplace, and pulled the protective covers off the sofa and chairs, but the parlor appeared just as empty as the rest of the house. 

Suddenly a small blur shot by her face, sending her reeling, and slammed into the glass garden doors with a loud  _ bam! _ The feathered bundle fell to the carpet, and she ran over to find the collapsed form of a little dusty brown bird with a yellow beak and a mottled breast. A female blackbird. It must have gotten in when her aunt had checked the house earlier. Still, the coincidence was unsettling. 

She crouched by the bird, uncertain if she should touch it, but it surprised her by flapping its wings and fluttering to its feet. It looked up at her and, clearly startled, darted over to the safety of the sofa. Well, it seemed fine then. 

She briefly wondered if she could keep it as a pet. Her parents and then her aunt had never let her have any pets, but the bird was small enough that she could easily hide it. But as she watched the blackbird flutter and hop around the room, as visibly anxious in its unfamiliar surroundings as her aunt had been, she decided that would be cruel. So, reluctantly, she pulled open the doors to the garden and stepped back. 

The bird paused, lingering on the arm of a chair, and then took off through the doors to land in a bush only a short distance away. Confused, she stepped out onto the veranda and peered down into the bush. She had been so certain it would have instantly flown far away to freedom, not hang around close to the house that had trapped it. 

That’s when she saw what the bush held. Barely concealed within its deep green leaves was a nest of grass and twigs and four fuzzy little heads. Mother bird perched on the edge of the nest, watching Merula warily, so she took a few careful steps back until it relaxed and turned its full attention to its babies. 

Who would have guessed? She wouldn’t be spending the entire summer alone after all. 

And, with that thought, Merula smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the support and attention they've given this fic! This story is actually a result of me getting sidetracked from the Merula/Player Character post-canon fic that I've been working on. I wrote quite a few chapters before pausing it to work on this. If that interests you, then keep an eye out. I'll be posting it sometime down the line (probably once I've caught up in Year 5).


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